


Right Message, Poor Delivery

by Mareepysheepy



Category: South Park
Genre: Cartman isn't evil he's just... Cartman, Craig Tucker has a really bad day, M/M, Sickening Fluff, and really mean, at least by Craig's standards, but I think he's a pretty good guy, but he definitely loves Tweek, but nothing of any sexual nature happens to any characters, gentle fun prodded at pc principal, in an educational sense, kids are naive, lots of swearing, or has happened, the subject of rape and sexual abuse is discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareepysheepy/pseuds/Mareepysheepy
Summary: Craig prefers a quiet existence, but after somehow being branded South Park Elementary School's first ever Fourth Grade sex pest, he's getting his day in the limelight whether he likes it or not.





	Right Message, Poor Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> It shouldn't need to be said, but clearly I am not poking fun at rape or sexual abuse at any point. Nothing about what the Principal says is wrong but... this is South Park so...

 

—

 

As he enters the gymnasium, Craig gets an unusual feeling that calls up images of inmates walking towards a firing line. He’s not sure why: it’s not unusual for PC Principal to call an assembly. He vaguely remembers taking some leaflet home about it, but he honestly cannot say that he bothered to read it.

Bizarrely, now he sort of wishes that he had.

He’s distracted by his phone buzzing as he takes his seat next to Clyde. Sitting down with an ungraceful thump, he reaches into his jacket pocket and checks his messages. He fights off a tiny smile when he sees it’s from Tweek.

‘ _Hey! :D’_

Straightening up from his slumped posture, Craig cranes his neck, glancing around the mass of children. He spots Tweek two rows back, about six metres away. When they make eye contact, Tweek smiles and throws him a little wave. Craig lifts a hand in response and notices that he feels a bit better about this assembly now. Whatever weird cautiousness he felt is subsiding under the weight of such a little gesture.

“Dude, I hope it’s a sex talk,” Clyde whispers to him, eyes alight with an excited gleam.

Craig rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man,” he says flatly. “I wouldn’t get too excited. If it is, it’ll probably be one of those shitty videos ripped from VHS.”

“What’s VHS?” Clyde asks, bewildered.

Craig opens his mouth and shuts it again. He’s fairly certain he remembers what VHS is, but didn’t that shit die out centuries ago? Weird.

He’s drawn from his thoughts as the shuffling and excited chattering dies down and an air of expectation settles over them. Their asshole principal is standing as he always does, staring intensely at the crowd of elementary school kids, arms crossed in such a way that he subconsciously (or consciously, Craig suspects) thrusts his impressive pecs out. Douchebag.

“Okay, children,” PC Principal begins. “Can I have your attention, please? We’re going to be discussing some sensitive topics today and I want you to know that this is a safe space and you’re free to leave if you get too uncomfortable.”

Clyde sits up straighter, interest clearly piqued. Craig, on the other hand, feels an odd, eerie calm come over him. Distantly it freaks him out because it feels more like being in the eye of a hurricane, rather than relaxing. He casts a quick glance over towards Tweek, whose eyes have gone very wide. Craig will have to keep an eye on that: he doesn’t want Tweek screaming and freaking the pre-schoolers out.

“Okay, kids. Today I want to talk to you about consent,” PC Principal says. And there it is. The rock in Craig’s stomach. Suddenly he realises why he feels dread. He’s beset by images of sitting in the Principal’s office, telling Tweek that he did not want him to touch his penis.

“First of all, can anyone tell me what consent _is_?” The Principal asks.

Kyle Broflovski -the utter fucking know-it-all- raises his hand. “It means agreeing to something, sir. Especially if you’re well-informed.”

“Exactly!” PC Principal responds, pointing at Kyle. “Great job, Kyle. And the informed piece is what’s super important.”

From the row below him, Craig hears Cartman mimicking Kyle, although he’s sure he catches a rogue ‘ _jew_ ’ in there.

“I want to talk about sexual consent today. It’s a really important life lesson that I want you all to be clued up on,” the principal says earnestly. Craig rubs his eyes, already feeling a headache coming on. He’s not stupid enough to think that this isn’t important, but from his own experience in the Principal’s office months ago, he doesn’t have much faith in the delivery.

“Can anyone tell me what rape is?” The Principal asks the group.

“Surprise sex?” Cartman pipes up.

“Shut the fuck up, Fatass!” Kyle screams from across the room. “That’s not funny! It’s a serious issue!”

“Kyle, I don’t tolerate that language, or that comment about Eric’s weight,” the Principal warns. “But you’re right, Kyle. It’s not a joking matter, Eric. This is a very serious issue and it can affect anyone.”

For a brief moment, Craig feels a pity for Cartman that’s beyond his years. For all that Cartman is a horrible shit, Craig is pretty certain that Cartman doesn’t actually understand half of what he says. Like a pre-schooler repeating what he’s heard, without really understanding it.

“Wendy?”

“Rape is when someone is forced into a non-consensual sexual act, either by physical force, emotional abuse and manipulation, or coercion,” Wendy says.

The principal nods, his face as serious as ever, but Craig can tell (somehow) that he’s impressed.

“I’m glad you said _someone_ , Wendy,” he says. “Does sexual assault just happen to girls?” He asks the bewildered group.

“Uh… no?” Butters replies after no one speaks, cautiously glancing at Cartman, as if seeking his agreement. He’s clearly guessing, but Butters likes to be part of things for some reason.

“That’s right, Butters!” The principal says way too enthusiastically. “It can happen to _anyone_ , so you should never think that it couldn’t happen to _you_.”

’ _Ah, shit_ ’, Craig thinks, searching out Tweek. Sure enough, Tweek is sitting wide-eyed, terrifying scenarios undoubtedly whirling around inside his head. Craig scowls to himself and makes a mental note that lunchtime is going to be spent calming Tweek down. Not that he minds, really, but he doesn’t doubt that Tweek’s parents will probably make it even worse later on tonight.

“Who commits acts of sexual assault?” The Principal is asking now.

“Everyone knows it’s creepy dudes in alleyways, and the bad guys who take the kingdom and help themselves to the women folk,” Cartman says offhandedly, once again proving that he is an enormous fantasy geek.

“Incorrect,” the Principal replies, pointing. “ _Anyone_ is capable of committing it-” Craig is fairly certain he catches Tweek squeak out an ‘oh, Jesus’ “-But it’s actually most likely to come from someone you know.”

There’s an immediate shift in the room at that, kids around them shuffling and looking at each other with a sudden mistrust. Even the pre-schoolers have moved notably further apart. To Clyde’s right, Craig can see Stan Marsh pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Now, children, it’s important to realise that it isn’t just creepy, old adults behind this. It can be family, friends, even your boyfriend or girlfriend.” There’s stunned silence in the room. “My next important question is: Is there ever a point where anyone should ever expect anything sexual from you? Anyone?”

The answer is longer in coming forth this time. It’s Nichole who breaks it, raising her hand and speaking with passionate conviction. “No, sir. Never.”

“Correct, Nichole,” the principal nods. “But what if you are in a relationship with that person?”

There’s another shuffle as kids look at each other. The principal doesn’t let the silence extend this time, jumping right back in. For some reason, Craig’s earlier sense of inexplicable apprehension tightens and sinks into a ball of dread. This is going somewhere I’m not going to like, he thinks suddenly, feeling like the lamb who’s just realised that he’s standing in a queue to the slaughterhouse.

“The answer is still _never_ . Being in a relationship does not entitle you to ownership of their body. Even if you’re in an established relationship. Take for example our own Craig and Tweek,” he says, sweeping his hand towards Craig. “They’re in an established relationship so you might think that Craig is entitled to sex, but should he under _any_ circumstances expect sex from Tweek?”

Craig feels his mouth drop open and his eyebrows draw down in a sharp scowl of protest. Suddenly he’s very aware that every kid in school has turned to stare at him with harsh, accusing eyes. Clyde even shuffles sideways a few inches, squishing into Stan.

“No!” Someone says. Craig suspects it’s Dog Poo from the dramatic delivery. “ _Never_.”

The principal nods. “Exactly, Craig should have zero expectations that he is entitled to sex and should respect Tweek’s body autonomy at all times in order to have a healthy, respectful relationship. Yes, Tweek?”

At Tweek’s name, Craig startles from his disbelieving stare. The eyes on him shift over to look at Tweek, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to look. ‘ _What the hell is happening here?’_ He thinks.

“Sir!” Tweek speaks up, his slightly shrill voice jittering with panic, but oddly, a little more forceful than usual. “Craig wouldn’t do that!”

Craig doesn’t have time to feel stirred by the faith. PC Principal speaks up again like a hammer smashing a nail into his coffin.

“Remember, Tweek,” he says. “ _Anyone_ is capable.”

“Yeah, but… Craig is awesome and he’s really sweet!” Tweek argues back. Despite the situation, Craig feels a touch of warmth flow through the icy pit in his stomach. Even if Tweek just outed him as ‘sweet’ to the whole school.

“Didn’t he hit you a few weeks ago?” One of the girls asks. Craig can’t see her, but she sounds disgusted.

“That was Civil War!” Craig speaks up for the first time, defensive. Okay, so he’d got a little too into character, and maybe he’d been harbouring some hurt feelings over the whole split in their super duo, but that still didn’t mean he went around beating the shit out of Tweek. He’d even held his punches! He never bothered doing that for anyone else! And he hadn’t even _liked_ that game. So why is most of the room looking at him like he’s a monster?

“It’s just an example, of course,” the Principal breaks in. “But it’s important to know that it can happen in a relationship with someone you trust. _And_ it doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, asexual, trans, cis, demisexual, aromantic, gender fluid, or queer. Tweek and Craig’s example shows that can happen in a same-sex relationship, just as it can in a heterosexual relationship, or other.” He lets that sink in for a moment, before nodding, satisfied that his message has landed. “Now, let's move onto informed consent and the power of saying ‘ _no_ ’.

—

 

By lunchtime, Craig is branded South Park Elementary School’s First Fourth Grade Sexual Predator. Craig Tucker, boring, deadpan, gay Craig Tucker. Sexual predator. He couldn’t make it up if he tried.

He doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that Tweek chose to sit with him. On the plus side, it’s reassuring that Tweek has such complete faith in him, but on the negative, he’s drawing even more stares and whispers because of it. He can’t even bring himself to flip people off. He already looks bad enough.

Tweek can tell that he’s upset. Not that it’s hard to: Craig has a decent poker face, but he also likes to generally sink into the background. Being glared at by most of the the school definitely isn’t sinking into the background. After his third, loud protest of _it was an example_ , Craig had given up trying,  figuring that today was his turn to be the butt monkey of South Park’s bullshit. Yay for him. 

“Craig…” Tweek starts, placing his hand sympathetically over Craig’s. “You know what this place is like. Everyone's an idiot.”

Craig shrugs. He’s glad that he’s learnt to read Tweek so well. He’s half expected -and dreaded- Tweek to be a quivering mess of anxiety after that assembly. Instead, he was indignant that Craig had been hung out to dry. It’s kind of flattering. Or would be under different circumstances.

“Seriously,” Tweek says. “Fuck’emman.”

Craig sighs and takes a sip from his juice carton. “Easy for you to say,” he mutters, voice flatter than ever. “No one thinks you’re abusive.”

“No,” Tweek agrees. “Everyone thinks I’m _being_ abused.” He pauses to scoff and chugs some coffee from his thermos. “L-like I wouldn’t punch you in the balls if you tried.”

Usually Craig would find that funny. Instead he frowns. “Yeah but… I _wouldn’t_ try,” he says. “I know that the principal said that anyone could, but that doesn’t mean that I would.”

Tweek softens at that, squeezing his hand lightly, only a small quiver running through him. “I know that, Craig.”

Craig looks at him and calms a bit at what he sees. Tweek is looking back at him, devoid of eye twitches or shakes. Given the usual state of his paranoia, Craig is struck -not for the first time-  by how much Tweek seems to genuinely trust him. It’s kind of overwhelming. Craig can’t help staring right back at him, feeling a small smile tug at his lips.

“Tweek?” A new voice interrupts. Craig looks up to find Bebe standing besides their table, her eyes fixed pointedly on Tweek. “Is everything okay here?” She asks.

For a moment, Tweek looks confused. “Nh- yes?”

“So long as you’re _sure_ ,” Bebe says with an overly-serious nod.

Tweek nods back, watching her with wide eyes as she retreats to Wendy’s side, throwing glances back over her shoulder. Craig fights not to shrink back from the particularly nasty glare she shoots _him._

“What the fuck, man?” Tweek mutters.

“She was checking that I’m not abusing you,” Craig huffs, taking an angry bite out of his mash. He regrets it when his teeth clang off his fork.

Tweek groans next to him. “This is going to get reallyreally annoying!”

“ _You’re_ telling _me?_ ” Craig responds, incredulous.

“Yeah,” Tweek has the grace to look a bit guilty. “You definitely won gold in this week’s shit Olympics.”

“Thanks,” Craig says dryly.

“Craig, I need to speak with you alone,” another new voice interrupts, Probably emboldened by Bebe’s approach.

With a groan, Craig turns around to face Eric Cartman. “No,” he replies simply.

“Y’see, Craig,” Cartman carries on, utterly ignoring Craig’s rejection and squeezing himself between Craig and Tweek. Tweek yelps, sliding quickly into the next seat. “Craig, what you’re doing just isn’t cool,” Cartman says.

“ _What_ am I doing?” Craig frowns.

“You and Tweek, Craig. The abuse. It’s got to stop,” Cartman says with comical seriousness. “It’s not cool. I was rooting for you guys. I called you gay before you were gay and I sent Cupid Me in to fix you guys. Right now, Craig? You’re letting me down.”

Craig stares at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Cartman shakes his head, clapping Craig on the shoulder. “Let’s be honest, he’s a spaz and kinda wimpy-”

“Hey!” Tweek breaks in, ignored entirely by Cartman.

“- but once you get to know him, he’s not so bad. Not so good at making hats, but solid where it counts. And gay Tweek freaks out a lot less than old Tweek so he’s generally a lot less annoying. So don’t go around all raping and abusing him, okay? Cupid me would feel kind of shitty, you follow?”

“No,” Craig responds.

“Good talk,” Cartman nods, heaving himself up from the seat and heading back towards his own dickhead friends. Kyle is looking at him in utter disbelief.

“What the hell was that about?” Craig says slowly.

“I… think Cartman was looking out for me?” Tweek replies, although he’s extremely dubious. Maybe being one of the few kids that Cartman didn’t show any actual animosity towards was a boon sometimes. He’s also heard a rumour that Cartman is a big fan of the stuff the Asian girls produced, but that was a bit too creepy to entertain.

“Fucking weird,” Craig grumbles, finishing his mashed potato.

Tweek nods in agreement, very aware of the glances they’re getting. It’s almost like when they first started dating for real and it makes him uncomfortable.

Without thinking, Craig reaches out to stroke his hand. It’s utterly unconscious, borne of a deepening bond. His face is stony -more so than usual- and he’s clearly not appreciating this limelight. Tweek treasures him then (Not that he’d say it aloud. That was super gay and sappy), appreciates that Craig makes him feel more at ease than anyone else ever has.

Turning his hand over, Tweek laces their fingers and squeezes playfully hard. “It’ll pass, Craig,” he says with an unusual sense of certainty, conspiracy theories and worst-case scenarios for once far away. “This shit always does.”

Craig nods miserably and starts scoffing his cherry pie.

 —

 

The next period is Hell. The girls -led by Bebe- swarm around Tweek the moment they enter the classroom, ferrying him away to a desk at the far end of the room. They sit around Tweek like a barricade, sending fierce warning glares Craig’s way every time his eyes wonder over towards Tweek (which he realises, for the first time, he does a lot).

Craig can live without sitting beside Tweek for a few hours. He finds himself more ticked off at the guys, most notably Token, Jimmy, and Clyde, who have all shifted their tables away from his a few, noticeable centimetres. So much for ‘Craig and those guys’. He’d explain himself, but he doesn’t think that he should have to.

He only bothers trying to talk to Jimmy once, momentarily forgetting and asking him if he has a spare lead. The exaggerated flinch away he receives in return is enough to make him give up entirely on today. So he slumps down into his seat, scowling and moodily doodling space ships with his nearly emptied pencil for the rest of the lesson.

Things haven’t changed by the time the bell goes. All the boys around him scramble to their feet and run for the door like he’s a toxic gas leak. At the other end of the classroom, Tweek is whisked away by the girls before Craig even has a chance to say his name.

He makes his way to his locker alone, movements tight with simmering anger, tossing his books in with a loud clang. He’s so focussed on taking his mood out on his possessions that he almost misses a smudge of orange and green rushing towards him. 

“Craig!” Kyle calls, skidding to a halt with Stan in tow. Craig’s anger drains slightly. He feels a little ripple of alarm at their expressions, their eyes crinkled and caught between worry and excitement.

“You gotta come quick, man,” Kyle announces. “Tweek’s getting into a fight with a fifth grader!”

Eyes widening, Craig takes only half a second to process that before he’s grabbing his bag and making a dash for the yard.

He’s confronted by a small crowd of kids forming a rag-tag circle. Craig hears Tweek before he sees him, his voice pitched high in what sounds like rage. He only makes out a few words as he shoulders his way through the amassed kids, but he’s fairly sure he makes his own name out of the fierce yelling.

By some tiny grace of some higher being, Craig bursts through to Tweek’s side just as he’s about to launch himself at a slightly shocked-looking fifth grader that Craig doesn’t recognise. Tweek’s teeth are grit in a feral snarl, fists clenched and ready to fly. Without thinking, Craig grabs him, one arm going under Tweek’s armpit, and the other around his waist. He braces himself, nearly flung off his feet as Tweek twists against him.

“Let me _go_ , Craig!” Tweek screeches. “I’m gonna k-kick his ass!”

At a loss for what else to do, Craig squeezes him, trying to remind him that he’s here. “Whoa, Tweek. Whoa…”

“What’s going on here?” An adult voice interrupts the clamour. Some of the kids scatter slightly.

Craig looks up to see the principal approaching with another teacher in tow, and opens his mouth to explain as best he can.

“Craig grabbed Tweek, sir!” Someone -Craig has no idea who- shouts up. “Tweek told him to let him go and Craig didn’t.”

Craig feels his heart sink in his chest, looking around at the faces that have turned towards him, suddenly very aware that he’s got his thrashing boyfriend pinned to his chest. The fifth grader is -unhelpfully- nowhere to be seen.

“You all saw him!” Craig replies, loosening his grip as he gives them an ‘ _are you serious_?’ look. “There was going to be a fight.”

“Craig, holding someone against their will is a serious offence,” PC Principal says gravely. “I need you to slowly let him go. 

“Oh for-” Craig snaps, releasing Tweek altogether. “Fuck this, fuck all of you, fuck _everything_.”

“My office,” the principal says. “I’m going to need to get your parents involved. Maybe even the police.”

Craig’s mouth drops open.

‘ _Today can get fucked’_ , he thinks unhelpfully.

 —

 

“I’m so, so sorry,” Tweek frets, all but vibrating in his seat from stress.

Craig reaches out without thinking to pull Tweek’s fingers from where they’re worrying at his hair.

“It’s okay,” he says, deadpan. It’s not, but none of this is really Tweek’s fault.

“It’s not! I was just so angry about what that guy was saying, Craig! I had no idea that this would happen!”

‘ _I did,’_ Craig thinks sardonically. ‘ _Today is my turn for the town to take a shit on me_.’

“It’s okay, Tweek,” he says again instead. “It’s pretty sweet that you were defending my honour, dude. Just next time… don’t.”

Tweek’s shoulders slump. “Alright,” he says, eye twitching violently. “But I- I- I really didn’t mean to make things worse.” The last comes out in a garbled rush.

Craig shrugs. They’re sitting outside the Principal’s office, neither one wishing to return to class. They’re done with seeing the principal, killing time in a hallway quiet with between-class stillness.

Luckily, Tweek has set the record straight over the almost-fight, but they still both had a renewed lecture on consent. They hadn’t got away with their parents not being informed either. Craig had sat and cringed as his dad had been called and told for the second time that year that his son understood affirmative consent.

They were off the hook, parents and peers aside. No police involvement, no black marks. The school is encouraging of same-sex couples, they’d been told yet again.

Despite this, the thought of returning to class makes a sense of dread pool in Craig’s stomach. He doesn’t usually care and he doesn’t get why he cares this time. But he does care. More than he’s comfortable caring. The thought that he could hurt Tweek leaves a gross taste in his mouth, but the fact that the other kids think that he is… it’s bullshit. His relationship with Tweek is one of the only things in the world that is good (the others being Red Racer, space, guinea pigs and Tweek himself). He doesn’t like the thought that anyone can see it as anything else.

“I’m done,” Craig announces, breaking the silence and slumping grumpily into the plastic seat.

Tweek jumps a little and then looks sympathetic. “This stuff always passes,” he says sagely. Craig looks over and feels oddly comforted by that. If Tweek -often seized by (admittedly justified) paranoia- thinks that this will pass, then it will definitely pass.

“- And if it doesn’t,” Tweek continues, “then, you know, I can like go to court and stuff and represent you and stuff and argue for you to be released. I can start a campaign and make t-shirts and... hats! I can make free hats. But… oh Jesus. What if I don’t make enough!?”

“ _Tweek,”_ Craig interrupts, although his voice is gentle. Tweek settles his wild eyes on Craig. “And you were doing so well, babe.”

Tweek calms imperceptibly, a tiny relax of the shoulders and slightly less rapid flinch of his eye. After a moment he nods. This _will_ probably all pass. And if Craig ends up in jail, he’ll wait.  

“I'm sure at least your dad will believe you,” Tweek says. He means if too. Thomas Tucker scares the bejesus out of him and has done ever since he asked Tweek why he couldn’t quit Craig during the yaoi thing, but he seems pretty normal. Especially compared to his own parents.

Craig shrugs. “I guess. Urgh,” he grunts, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m _ten!_ I’m not even interested in sex!” He says wearily, airing what he’s wanted to all day.

Tweek shifts. “Well that’s good, because I’m not either. Seems messy.”

Craig glances over at him and laughs a bit at his expression. He’s relieved that Tweek feels the same way. Maybe one day they’ll want to do it, and when that day comes Craig will absolutely, one-hundred percent know what affirmative consent is, and how not to sexually assault his boyfriend. For now though, he’s perfectly happy holding hands, playing games, and comfortably leaning against each other in quiet moments.

“What the fuck is up with adults in this town, babe?” Craig sighs.

Tweek shakes his head. “Sometimes I think they’re crazier than we are.”

Craig grimaces. “God, now we sound like Stan.”

Tweek laughs again and leans against his shoulder.

 —

 

They spend the rest of the last period sitting together quietly outside the principal’s office in red, plastic chairs. They don’t move until the bell goes, getting to their feet and collecting their bags with some reluctance. 

Craig seems more settled as they weave through kids, even though many of them are giving him a wide berth.

Tweek ignores them, mostly. He can feel little pricks of racing thoughts urging him to panic at all of the eyes aimed at them. But this isn’t about him, it’s about Craig. He feels something almost defiant as he walks alongside Craig. He knows somehow that he’d do this again and again, because somehow, being at Craig’s side feels really right.

It strikes him as they burst clear of bodies and fall in line, hand in hand on the pavement that maybe he’s the one who’s helped Craig this time. Even if it’s just a little. He can’t logic and reason like Craig can, but maybe giving him space to think whilst being at his side and supporting him helps. The thought causes a little bubble of pride to well in his chest. Sometimes he really _is_ more capable than he thinks.

Craig gives Tweek a questioning look when he squeezes his hand in a pulse so soft it’s like butterfly wings beneath his fingers.

“Wait up a minute,” Tweek says. Craig says nothing, waiting patiently as Tweek delves into his pocket for his phone. The numbers of kids around them has dwindled. They’re mostly alone, strolling along a slushy side street.

“Are you about to pull out a big, musical number?” Craig asks (a little hopefully, if he’s honest).

“Not this time,” Tweek replies with an apologetic smile. Instead he holds up his phone, squishes his face close to Craig’s,  and snaps a selfie of the two of them before Craig can protest otherwise.

“Urgh, _why?_ ” Craig asks. Not that he cares too much, but he doesn’t buy into selfie culture. He sees his dumb, grumpy-looking face in every reflective surface. He doesn’t need to see it all over the internet.

“I’m putting it on Coonstagram!” Tweek announces, eyes fixed on his screen as he furiously types.

“Tweek, you’re just going to get a bunch of messages about how you should leave me,” Craig huffs, kicking a wad of snow over.

“Yeah well,” Tweek says, posting and moving back to his side. He takes Craig’s hand again, linking their fingers. “I want everyone to see how great, and not abusive my Craig is.”

Craig grumbles something about Tweek not owning him, but his heated cheeks undermine his message considerably.

—

 

Dinner is slightly strained. Craig’s parents seem at a loss as to why the school had to have a conversation with him about affirmative consent again.

As he picks at his food, Craig mulls over what weird stuff might be going through their heads. He grows bored of the awkward silence after a while and drags in a sigh.

“Everyone at school thinks I’m a sexual predator, Tweek got into a fight with a guy to defend my honour, then I pulled Tweek off, then someone said I’d grabbed him inappropriately, then we had to go to the Principal’s office where Tweek explained what happened and then the principal called you,” Craig says in one, low, monotone monologue. Nothing like the direct approach.

His parents sag with relief.

“Oh thank God,” his dad says. “I thought that you’d been caught fooling around or something.”

His mother nods and sends his dad a smile. “That’s a relief.”

Craig waits.

A moment later his parents simultaneously blink. “Wait _what?”_ His mother says in a slightly shrieky tone. “A _sexual predator?_ ”

“Craig?” His dad asks, almost meek.

Craig heaves another great sigh, resting his chin on his hand. He notes how his sister shuffles away from him but he doesn’t even have the energy to frown. 

“We had an assembly today on consent and assault. PC Principal used _me_ as an example of how people in established relationships can assault and abuse their boyfriends, just like anyone else.” Even though I was minding my own Goddamned business, Craig adds in his own mind.

“I see,” his dad says, although he looks like he doesn’t.

“So it’s a misunderstanding?” His mom asks, tentative.

“Jesus Christ, _yes_ ,” Craig groans. “ _Obviously_ . I’m _ten_ ,” he states, as if it’s only obvious to him.

“We can have a word with the school,” his dad says. Firmer now.

“It sounds like you were picked on for being gay,” his mother frowns, eyebrows drawn down in a sharp V. Not for the first time, Craig gets the feeling that he inherited his glare from her, and not his dad.

“No,” Craig relents. “I think I was picked on for being the only person in the room capable of having a relationship that’s lasted more than two weeks. Tweek too, I guess.”

“Hmm,” his mother hums. She doesn’t look convinced though, reminding Craig a lot of a mama bear rearing up on her hind legs, lips drawn back to reveal a snarling maw.

“It’ll pass, I’m sure,” Craig sighs. “I just don’t need any more talks about affirmative consent.” It's a silent plea. It’s more important to him that his parents believe him.

“That’s fair,” his mom smiles. Craig’s relief is so palpable that for a mad moment his eye burns with a foreign emotion. The moment passes quickly though, and he settles back into the warm, safe familiarity of barely caring.

“Besides,” he says offhandedly as another thought occurs to him. “I’m not the kind of guy that wants to control things. I’m happy to let Tweek be in control.”

His dad chokes on the swig of water he’s just taken. His mom’s mouth drops into a tiny ‘o’ as she moves to pat her husband’s shoulder gently.

“What?” Craig asks, confused.

“Nothing, sweetie,” his mom jumps in.

 —

 

The rest of the evening passes with reassuring boringness. He FaceTimes Tweek before bed and they chat about everything but the events of the day, reminding Craig that he has a whole life outside of this. Better still, Tweek’s parents haven’t picked up on this shit, so they haven’t contributed to any outlandish fears that Tweek might have.

To his surprise, he even gets a text off Stan Marsh saying that the Principal is lame and he hopes this all passes soon.

He sleeps okay. The social ostracism doesn’t bother him all that much. He doesn’t much like the association with being some sort of pervert, and he’s really pissed off at his friends, but so long as he has his mom and dad, Tweek and Stripe #4 by his side, things aren’t so bad. So he sleeps, deep and dreamless.

Until Tweek screams him awake at six thirty.

“Ngh,” Craig moans. His bed is shaking slightly, so when he mournfully opens his eyes, he’s unsurprised to find Tweek sitting on his bed, staring back at him.

“Craig!” He says insistently.

“Tweek,” Craig sighs, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Craig, I screwed up. I’m sorry!” Tweek says, eyes as huge as saucers and fixed on him.

Squinting, Craig checks the time. “How exactly have you screwed up at… six thirty-eight in the morning?”

“That photo on Coonstagram, I- I- I-”

“Breathe, honey,” Craig says, patient.

“It was a really nice picture, but then people kept liking it and this… _hashtag_ appeared and-”

Sighing, Craig opens his Coonstagram app with a quick thumb press. He finds Tweek’s picture easily (since he only follows about four people anyway), and sees that it has over two hundred likes and eighty three comments.

The comments start off as Craig expected, various levels of disgust towards Craig in what is an otherwise inoffensive picture. As he scrolls, some of the comments get a little more vitriolic calling on him to go and die, but that’s not what bothers him.

 _“Cartman_ ,” he hisses. He should’ve guessed. That asshole can’t function without causing trouble.

At quarter to eleven last night, when _most_ of them were very much in bed, Cartman posted one, heavy rant about the evils of Craig Tucker and their precious friend Tweek Tweak. The rant has been signed off with a simple: #nomeansnocraig

And now the hashtag is trending.

“Oh God fucking _damn_ it!” Craig snaps.

Tweek makes a jittery noise and flinches away. “I’m sorry!”

Craig rubs his eyes, frustrated. He pulls in a deep breath and holds it, counting to ten. He releases it and looks over at Tweek. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do this.”

“I took the picture though! And posted it!”

“It was a… nice picture,” Craig says. He’s not ready to admit that he saved it, but he can admit that much if it makes Tweek feel better.

“Yeah but-”

“But nothing. You’re not accountable for Cartman’s actions,” Craig scowls.

Tweek opens his mouth to protest, but something about Craig’s stare stops him and it closes with a pop. Hesitantly, Tweek nods instead.

After Craig showers and dresses for the day, they head downstairs together. His dad looks up from his newspaper and nods a good morning to them both. His mom passes Tweek a cup of coffee and a round of toast. Neither of them are surprised by their breakfast guest, Craig notes, and he has to bite back a laugh when his mother insists on doing Tweek’s buttons up right. 

They walk to school together, hand in hand, each packed off with a Tucker family lunch. Craig is on the verge of suggesting that they skip a couple of times, but holds back. He has two science lessons today and he’s loath to miss them. Plus Tweek hates skipping, believing that the police will find him and take him to the coffee shop where his parents will end up with a bad reputation and they’ll lose customers and go out of business and then sell Tweek into slavery to cannibal rednecks. 

The madness starts before they even enter the school doors. There’s a small group of students standing around Cartman. Who’s standing on a podium. And holding a megaphone. And wearing a t-shirt with #nomeansnocraig emblazoned on it. _How even_?

“Here he is now!” Cartman shouts into it, his voice bouncing around the yard. “How long must we let the abuse carry on? How long do we have to watch Tweek suffer? How long until Craig Tucker loses interest in Tweek and starts abusing people like me and you?”

“Oh, fuck me,” Craig groans.

“Hey!” Tweek shouts, sounding angry.

“Don’t let him manipulate you into standing up for him, Tweek!” Cartman says in a voice that’s full of dramatic pity.

“No means no!” One girl shouts. By the time she reaches her fourth chant, the entire group has joined in.

“Stand up for your rights!” Cartman shouts. “Fight for the little guy. And buy a t-shirt, only five dollars each!”

Before Tweek can either freak out, or start a fight Craig tugs him away from the crowd, leading him by the hand inside the school.

Tweek hovers around him, even as Craig digs into his locker with a single-minded intensity of a boy pretending that he’s very far away.

“Craig?” A voice pipes up from their right.

Craig barely reacts, but Tweek jumps. A moment later, he moves to stand in front of Craig defensively.

“Leave Craig alone!” He says. He sounds terrified, but Craig marvels for a moment that despite that, he still jumps in to protect him without any hesitation.

“Tweek, Tweek,” Kyle says, placating. “It’s okay, man. We’re not here to piss you guys off.”

Craig grunts. “I’m already there.”

“Understandable,” Kyle agrees. “Look, it’s easy to see that this has all got really out of hand. Any idiot could see that the principal was just using you as an example, right, Stan?”

Stan doesn’t look quite as sure as Kyle, but nods anyway. “Yeah, dude. Look, people here will believe anything.”

“Especially with Cartman behind it,” Kyle adds.

Craig is sort of grateful for their faith in him, although he’s a little sore that his own gang don’t carry such conviction. Then again though, Clyde _is_ a dumbass.

“I guess you’re used to Cartman’s bullshit,” Craig says, voice flat.

“You have no idea,” Kyle sighs. “Look, whatever vaguely decent intention he had to start with has turned into an opportunity. He’s blowing it up for his own benefit.”

“You don’t say,” Craig replies dryly. 

“How do we stop it?” Tweek asks with urgency, although his eyes follow a girl walking past in a #nomeansnocraig t-shirt.

“I’m sure we can come up with an idea if we all work together,” Kyle says.

“No,” Craig says firmly. “No. Nothing good comes out of working with you guys.”

Kyle and Stan share a look.

“Dude,” Stan says. “You _won’t_ end up in Peru this time. Let it go already, man.”

“Look, Craig. I’m doing this because I hate seeing people get treated like shit for things they can’t help,” Kyle insists. He pauses, considering his words. “Plus, I’ll take any chance I can get to show Cartman up.”

Craig looks over towards Tweek. He’s silent for a moment, before opening his mouth and doing something that Kyle and Stan have never seen before, or considered trying themselves: he asks Tweek for his opinion.

“What do you think, ho- Tweek?” He catches himself before he slips into his little, private pet name. His question is earnest though. Little by little, Craig is starting to really appreciate Tweek’s point of view on things. 

Tweek looks surprised for a second, before his hand goes to his shirt, tugging subconsciously. His expression is conflicted as the panic bites at him, familiar company to the pressure of making a decision. It’s only for a moment though. From somewhere deep within, he seems to find clarity. Craig knows it from the slight softening of his expression.

“I think… I think we need to face it head-on,” Tweek says. “And do it- it publically to shut it down.”

“Another musical number?” Kyle asks.

“A staged fight?” Stan follows.

“No, we’ve done that before,” Tweek replies, thoughtful. “Let me think on it, Okay?”

Craig nods in response, more reassured by that than he’d admit aloud. “Sure, Tweek. I know you’ll think of something.”

Tweek blushes slightly at the confidence in him.

“Let us know if we can help,” Kyle says enthusiastically.

“Sure, whatever,” Craig shrugs. “But you guys had better pull something out soon, or I’m gonna be carrying this into high school.”

—

 

Craig endures two periods of glaring, passive aggressive comments, and t-shirt slogans. It sucks because normally he’s the one dishing out the looks and the passive aggression (maybe not so much the t-shirts) so he feels a little sensitive about the tables being turned. 

Tweek is suspiciously absent from their break time. Craig prepares to dejectedly sit alone, but to his surprise, Jimmy joins him at his lonely table.

“Is th-th-this seat taken?” He asks as he approaches.

Craig glances at the seat and back at Jimmy. “I think you know the answer to that one.”

“Fa-fair point,” Jimmy replies. Craig is surprised again when Jimmy takes his proffered arm -force of habit- to help him sit down. 

“Not the best day, huh?” Jimmy says.

 “Let me think. I’m branded as a sexual predator and now there’s a hashtag campaign against me. So… no,” Craig replies, although his monotone delivery reveals very little.

 “Unus-unush- unusual for you to feel that way,” Jimmy observes.

“I’m not like, impervious to people saying shit about me,” Craig answers. “Sure I don’t really give a fuck if they think I’m an asshole or something but… sexually abusive to Tweek? Urgh.” He stops, lowering his head until it bounces off the table.

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” Jimmy says. “It was shi- sha- shi-”

“Yeah,” Craig interrupts. He doesn’t usually interrupt, but frankly, he’s feeling pretty sore. “It was shitty of you. You really think I could be like that?”

“I dunno, man,” Jimmy replies. “The principal said it could be an-any- ah-” he stops to take a short break. A sharp in and out. “Anyone.”

“Even you?” Craig asks, serious.

Jimmy’s mouth opens and closes. Opens again. Closes, slower this time. Finally, he says, “Huh… hadn’t thought of it like that.”

‘ _Yeah, no one else has either,’_ Craig thinks testily. Instead though, he sighs. “Whatever, man. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

“You’re remarkably cool for someone who’s hon- h- who’s hon- reputation is at stake,” Jimmy notes, considering him.

“Like I ca-”

Craig is interrupted by the tannoy booming over his head.

“Craig Tucker, please report to the Principal’s office,” comes the voice of PC Principal. “I repeat, Craig Tucker to the Principal’s office, thank you.”

“Are you _shitting_ me?” Craig nearly shouts, temper flaring white hot. Some of the kids around him shoot nervous glances to one another. Jimmy’s eyes have gone very wide, nervously darting around. Fuck them, Craig thinks furiously. Fuck them, fuck this school and fuck this fucking week in the fucking ass.

He grabs his bag without so much as a word to Jimmy and storms to the Principal’s office. He raps once, twice on the door, holding back from putting his fist through it. Barely. His knuckles burn slightly from the force of his knocking, and he knows that they’ll probably throb later.

“Come in,” the principal calls out.

Craig heads inside, seething, wondering what _else_ can possibly go wrong.

“Craig,” PC Principal says, unfolding his douchey arms and pushing his douchey sunglasses further up his nose.

“ _Sir,_ ” Craig says, surly and waspish as he throws himself heavily into the seat. He makes no effort to conceal his disgust.

“Craig, I’ve called you in today because I’ve heard that some of the kids may have taken my example of abuse in relationships yesterday the wrong way,” the Principal says.

“The _wrong way?”_ Craig asks incredulously. “There’s a Goddamned _hashtag_ campaign against me!”

The Principal looks slightly taken aback by the rage. “Craig,” he says, “I’d ask you to tone down the language, please. Now, it’s important to recognise that the message isn’t wrong: Anyone _is_ capable of forcing a boyfriend or a girlfriend into things that they’re not comfortable with-”

“I _know_ that!” Craig breaks in, voice starting to rise in a way that he can’t seem to reign in. “And you know what? I _am_ capable of it. _Anyone_ is capable of it! _Tweek_ is capable of it! But that doesn’t mean that I’m _going_ to do it!”

“Precisely,” The Principal agrees. “Anyone is capable but that doesn’t mean that they will.”

“Tweek is one of the only things I care about in this Goddamned, shitty world!” Craig goes on. “He actually makes me feel… _happy_ . I _like_ him. A whole _lot._ I’d never want to _hurt_ him. And maybe I will some day by accident, but I wouldn’t do it on purpose and I’d do anything that I can to make it up to him because he’s _important_ to me.” He pauses, flushed slightly from anger and from spouting that mushy shit.

After a few, quick breaths to calm himself, he carries on, throwing logic to the wind. “He… he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d never want to damage that. Or make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. Maybe I’ll give him a push where I think he needs it but… I’d never _make_ him,” he finishes. The passion is draining from his voice. His usual sensibility kicks in to tell him to calm the fuck down. He feels oddly tired from his tirade and he thanks every God real or imagined that there’s only him and this asshole in the room. He doesn’t do emotional outbursts, damn it. 

“Good, Craig,” he says. “That is how a healthy relationship works.”

 “I don’t need you to tell me that,” Craig mutters, ducking his head. Another thought occurs to him, the same one as last night. He feels like it justifies him some more, despite his parents reacting oddly. “You said it’s about control, right? I’m really not bothered about control though. Tweek can take control for all I care.”

The Principal’s mouth presses into a line. Craig isn’t sure, but he’s pretty sure that his eyes widen behind his shades. “So it’s like that, huh?” He asks the space between them. Craig frowns and is about to ask ‘ _like what’_ when the Principal carries on talking. “Craig, I haven’t been entirely honest with you, and I’m ashamed to say that I did _not_ get your consent where I should have.”

“Huh?” Craig asks intelligently.

“I want it on record that Craig Tucker did _not_ consent to being broadcast and that I, under no circumstances, condone the recording or broadcast of non-consenting individuals,” the principal intones. “I misled Craig Tucker, which could be considered an example of coercion, which is another form of non-consent.”

“Non-consent?” Craig says, bewildered. Who the fuck is this man talking to?

“Be that as it may, Craig has provided a superb example today of not only a demonstration in being misled, but also of a strong, healthy approach to being a considerate boyfriend. Thank you, Craig.”

“What?” Craig’s eyes boggle, thoroughly lost until the word ‘broadcast’ filters into his mind.

The principal is still talking. “Due to his services in keeping you all informed and safe, I am hereby dubbing Craig Tucker South Park Elementary School’s Consent Champion.”

“Wha...t?” Craig says again. _Broadcast_ , his mind reminds him.

Realisation dawns on him with a crawling slowness. His eyes start on the principal, dumbly trailing over his desk until they finally settle on the principal’s left hand, following it to his index finger. His finger is pressed to a button in a black box from which a microphone sprouts like a black flower rising after spring. The box has a light on it. The light is green.

Broadcast.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Craig says.

—

 

The world has changed when Craig returns to class. He’s greeted with whoops and cheers when he rejoins his peers, instead of glares and whispers.

It’s a battle to keep from cringing, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible as he takes his seat. He does his best to pretend the class isn’t there, even as the noise begins to subside and Clyde gives him an enthusiastic elbowing. His eyes betray him though, darting over to Tweek without a thought. He’s looking right back at him, flushed. His eyes are wide in awe and he’s got a shameless, shit-eating grin plastered to his face. Asshole.

He makes it through another period. The hashtag t-shirts are absent, replaced instead by at least eight people (boys as well as girls) telling him how sweet he is. Two people had called him an inspiration.

The entire thing is suffering. He’s as far from sinking into the background as he was before. Although he has to grudgingly admit that it’s better to be labelled a Consent Champion, and Good Boyfriend over Sex Pest.

Tweek, Kyle and Stan join him at his locker as he prepares to leave for the day. A few people nearby make an “awww” sound.

With a sigh, Craig shuts his locker. “I suppose I have one of you to thank for destroying my reputation?”

“Dude, I really don’t think people think you’re as tough as you think,” Stan laughs. “You’ve been mushy ever since you two started dating." 

Craig huffs. “Whatever. Having me broadcast to the entire school was really uncool.” 

“We know,” Kyle relents. Tweek looks guilty, twitching slightly although he still wears a smile. “It was a shitty thing to do, but Tweek was right: it had to be public. We figured that the principal should be involved. I’m amazed he agreed though.”

“He took some convincing,” Tweek agrees, voice a little shy. Craig can see that he’s absolutely fucking ecstatic with Craig’s soppy word vomit, but carrying some anxiety that he’s damaged things between them. “But he felt really bad for what people were saying about you.”

“So he should,” Craig frowns. He’s not angry so much as he’s totally fucking embarrassed. Not that anything he said was a lie, but he’d only figured half that stuff out on the spot. Part of him thinks that he really should have discovered it along the way and shared it with Tweek when he was ready, rather than an entire school when he’s not. “He offered to let me press charges,” Craig adds with a sigh. “I won’t, obviously.”

Tweek, Kyle and Stan fall into an uncomfortable silence. Stan shuffles from foot to foot. Kyle glances over at Stan for support. Tweek starts pulling at his shirt.

Barely holding in a groan, Craig rolls his eyes and swings an arm around Tweek’s shoulders, pulling him into a rough side-hug. “At least tell me Cartman’s been put out,” He asks as Tweek relaxes against him.

Kyle grins widely, a nasty light in his eyes. “Oh yeah, he’s pissed. Everyone’s trying to return their t-shirts, plus he got carried away and ended up ordering three boxes of bumper stickers that he now can’t sell.”

Craig shares the smile, smirking. That at least makes him feel better. Plus it’s the weekend, so things aren’t as bad as they could be. Hopefully everyone’s excitement will die out over the weekend and Craig can return to school on Monday blissfully obscure.

—

 

The weekend passes by without much incident. Tweek’s most recent Coonstagram post explodes with likes and comments again, only this time the hashtag #boyfriendgoals seems to feature much more heavily.

Tweek spends most of Sunday around his house playing Call of Duty with him on the sofa. Nothing much has changed between them, except maybe Tweek sits a little bit closer, and maybe they catch themselves smiling at each other a little more. Craig finds that he doesn’t mind it though and considers that maybe being a boyfriend goal isn’t such a bad thing.

He neglects to mention that he’s been named Consent Champion for the school to his parents. He’s slightly worried that they’re going to have a heart attack.

By Monday morning things are feeling calm again. Craig stands at his locker, chatting to Token about Red Racer, easily ignoring a couple of girls swooning opposite them.

It’s nice and boring, and Craig welcomes it with wide open arms.

Until, of course, the peace is shattered by Cartman running through the hallway, waving his hands.

“Oh my God, you guys!” He gasps. “Scott Malkinson likes cow porn!” 

“What?” Craig asks.

“It’s true!” Cartman insists. “I saw him looking at these cows and this bull was mounting this girl cow and it was so gross, you guys.”

Craig pulls a face as Cartman rushes off to spread the message.

 _‘Gross,’_ Craig thinks. ‘ _Why would anyone like cow porn?’_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Craig... there was a lesson to be learnt here. You did not learn it.


End file.
